


The Lady in Lilac

by Sholio



Series: Free of Surface Ties [17]
Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Feast of the Exceptional Rose, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:16:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2682218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frith and I both wrote Masquing fics at about the same time. (Hers is right before this one in the series fic list.) Unfortunately they don't quite fit in continuity with each other. Perhaps these are different feasts? Perhaps one can never quite be certain <i>what</i> really happened when the airs of London are changeable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lady in Lilac

A laughing cluster of masked revelers dashed past them, attired _most_ inappropriately, particularly the ladies. Feathers and sequins, Peter could deal with (he considered himself a fairly cosmopolitan man), but had that been a flash of ... midriff? He averted his eyes.

"I'll be glad when the Feast is over," he informed Neal.

"I think it's fun," Neal said, predictably.

At their heels, Satchmo the disappointing marsh-wolf trotted, wagging his tail and snorfling dropped tidbits off the ground. There was an occasional shriek as someone recognized his species, but most people assumed he was a dog. Peter was used to it.

"There's nothing fun about it," he retorted. "It's nothing but an excuse for people to behave stupidly and recklessly in public." And there was something _tragic_ about it, to Peter: a desperately giddy facade, paper-thin, covering a yawning chasm of despair with edged laughter and dancing and all-night revels fueled by mushroom wine. He couldn't help suspecting the Masters were sitting back and laughing somewhere. If they laughed. He'd take honest darkness, poverty and despair any day over this glimmering, false mask.

Neal, of course, was having none of his gloom. "Did you hear someone sent Mozzie a sorrow-spider?"

"It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"A tame one," Neal said. "Well, as tame as they get, anyway. Very nicely coiffed. I don't know how they managed it. I keep telling him he should give it to the lady in the lilac dress before something unfortunate happens, but he's grown attached. He named it Elmer."

Peter decided not to touch that. "I don't trust that woman in lilac. She's up to something."

"Peter, you think _everyone_ is up to something."

"Am I wrong?" Peter said.

"Ooh, look, the Wheel of Affection," Neal said hastily. "You should give it a go, Peter."

"I never get anything but dead bats on that thing." And, though he would never admit it, the pathetic little ribbon-wrapped bodies made him even more gloomy than the rest of the Feast. He felt sorry for them. "Besides, I don't have any carnival tickets."

"None?" Neal asked. He sounded surprised. "They're incredibly easy to scam -- er, wheedle out of the carnies right now. Everyone's doing it."

"How so?"

"Well, you've seen the Exceptional Rose, right?"

Peter shuddered. "You mean that poor child in the costume?"

"Exactly. If you threaten to expose it as a fraud, tickets basically fall into your lap; they're just _giving_ them away."

Peter stared at him. "That's blackmail."

"You can't scam an honest man, Peter; they started it." Peter must have looked as unconvinced as he felt. Neal reached into a pocket and pressed a ticket into his hand. "Here, take a spin on the wheel, it'll cheer you up."

"I'm not unhappy," Peter said, but he handed over the ticket and reached into one of the gondolas.

There were a few catcalls from the crowd as Peter unwrapped another depressingly familiar little ribbon-wrapped bundle.

"Wow, you _do_ have bad luck with that thing," Neal said.

As Peter started to gently tuck the fragile little bundle into his coat pocket, a hand brushed his arm, delicate as the touch of a lace fan. "If you haven't any plans for that ..." a quiet voice said, and Peter, turning his head, caught a glimpse of lilac.

"And you do?" Peter said, challenging.

The lady in lilac merely smiled. "There is a purpose for everything, and everything to its purpose." She held out a hand, encased in a lacy lilac glove. Satchmo sniffed her lavender skirts and wagged his tail, but he was a terrible judge of character; he liked everyone.

Peter found himself unexpectedly reluctant to relinquish the bat. It wasn't as if he didn't have more dead bats than he knew what to do with, though. "Just ... remember it was a living creature once," Peter said, and then felt stupid, but the lady smiled, and it touched her eyes.

"I hope I'll see you again before the Feast ends," she said, and looking around him, the corner of her mouth quirked in a rather more sardonic smile. "And do _you_ have anything more for me today?"

"Of course you two know each other," Peter muttered.

"Not today," Neal said. His hand dropped to his pocket. "I think I'll keep my gifts this time."

"Very well. I think we shall meet again soon." The lady in lilac nodded to them both, and vanished once again into the crowd.

"See?" Peter said. "Up to something." But he felt a little lighter, somehow, as if the physical burden of the dead bat had been lifted from his soul. And he thought that it wasn't his imagination that the looks of scorn when he'd taken the dead bat from the wheel's gondola had become more speculative and interested.

... which, come to think of it, was never a good sign down here.

"So what have you been giving the lady, Neal?"

"That's between me and her," Neal said, and tugged on Peter's arm. "Ooh, look, deviled hearts! I'm buying."


End file.
